


I'll Lay Right Down In My Favourite Place

by FunkyinFishnet



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Slash, Puppy Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 02:09:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2795843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunkyinFishnet/pseuds/FunkyinFishnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Roman have rarely seen eye-to-eye but Roman notices things, it's what he does. And he sees how Dean reacts to Roman's touch, to his hair being tugged and to being put into his place, often at Roman's feet. He sees how battered Dean looks sometimes after Seth's betrayal. Roman's learning and he wants Dean where he can see him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Lay Right Down In My Favourite Place

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a lyric from 'I Wanna Be Your Dog' by Iggy Pop, because you know, I'm original ;)
> 
> This is all the fault of many tumblrs, but mostly damien. Happy Christmas, damien :)

 

 

Roman noticed things. It was important that he did because he, Seth and Dean were making their mark in the WWE partly thanks to the way they slipped in and out of arenas unnoticed and unimpeded. So he noticed the way security worked at each building, when shifts changed over and when breaks were taken. He noticed which doors just needed a shove to get past and which WWE employees were willing to not raise the alarm when the Shield slide right on by them. Knowledge was indeed power.

 

He noticed the way Seth was often glued to his cellphone, how he smirked a little deeper when they were laying a beating on certain people, what dyes he preferred to use in his hair and what he kept in the myriad pockets of his parachute vest. Roman was the muscle, the strength, the one meant to catch what the others didn’t, so he did, because he didn’t ever want to let his friends, his brothers, down, because he had grown up knowing the importance of family, even if Dean did drive him fucking crazy sometimes.

 

Dean could be hilarious, getting under opponents’ skin, diving without warning through the ring ropes, acting fucking crazy on nights out and hanging his head out of the car window and shouting into the wind like the wind was gonna shout back. Dean was absolutely loyal and he made Roman laugh, even when there were car crashes involved. But Dean had always been different and that wasn’t always a comfortable funny thing. His eyes constantly grazed around whatever corner they found themselves squeezed into in order to keep themselves hidden on show days, his mouth always furiously chewed and frequently spat out rough-edged splinters of words that didn’t often make sense and were almost always wounded. Dean made the fury that Roman usually had such a good lid on explode quicker than it ever had before, because Dean knew just what to say, what buttons to push, to cause an explosion. It infuriated Roman, the ease with which Dean could do that and how much he seemed to enjoy disrupting Roman’s powerful calm. Seth despaired of them sometimes, of how often he had to stand between them and remind them of their united purpose, of how frequently he had to talk them both down.

 

“You’ve got to stop,” he told Roman, he probably told Dean the same thing. “Fuck, you’ve really got to stop because I didn’t build this group to see it implode because the two of you can’t pull your heads out your asses.”

 

Dean’s words always got worse on nights like that and he’d leave for the night, hollering over his shoulder. The next day, he’d roll into their motel room, looking equal parts edgy and equal parts weirdly sated. Sometimes Roman caught sight of bruises and bites on Dean’s skin that hadn’t come from any match. When Dean saw him looking, he snapped his teeth in Roman’s direction and sneered about life being different in Roman’s family, right? It was a concealing feint and Roman knew it so he usually managed to squash his reaction down to a frustrated growl. Of course if anybody outside of the Shield tried to beat down Dean, Roman was there immediately to take care of business.

 

Then one day he noticed, for the first time, how quickly Dean always looked away when Roman stared at the marks on his skin, how quickly Dean’s throat worked. Huh. Seth hadn’t noticed, or if he had he was ignoring it. Roman kept looking, curious now, maybe wanting to find a feint of his own to use when Dean next became unbearable. He noticed how when he patted Dean on the back or shoulder, Dean leaned into Roman's touch for a tiny second or froze like if he moved, something terrible would happen. Sometimes Dean shrugged him away but his jaw would still tense.

 

When Roman dragged him away from the ring, Dean sometimes went limp and gave his weight over to Roman. When Roman tugged a hand through Dean’s hair, checking for bumps, Dean’s breath quickened and his teeth ground. Roman filed all of that away alongside the heat he frequently felt go through his own body in response. Interesting.

 

He tugged on Dean’s hair a little more when Dean made him laugh, he knocked a fist lightly against Dean’s shoulder, when Dean sloped down onto the floor in hallways or even on the street Roman stood close by and thought that he felt Dean’s head resting against his leg for a moment or two.

 

Things were starting to fit together in Roman’s head, the fractured bits of Dean that neither he nor Seth had ever made sense of before. He didn’t talk to Seth about it because he’d noticed that Dean never behaved like that towards Seth so Roman puzzled through it himself, thinking about half-remembered conversations with someone he’d once met in a bar and maybe something he’d seen on the internet. He could almost see the picture, almost.

 

Then Seth jumped ship, leaving scars and oceans of rage and betrayed pain in his wake. Dean went off the deep end; Roman didn’t see him for three days in a row. Roman waited for his back heal, worked out in the gym determinedly and felt a sort of emptiness beside him coupled with the pain of loss and rage that he felt inside. One was Dean and the other was Seth.

 

He woke up the next morning to find Dean curled up on his motel room bed. His head was resting on Roman’s thigh and there was a fresh graze across his forearm. Relieved, Roman ran a hand through Dean’s hair and noticed how Dean nuzzled into the touch, a soft sound leaving his mouth. It was gentlest sound that Roman had ever heard Dean make. Something clenched hard in Roman’s chest; he’d lost Seth, he wasn’t going to lose Dean too. It wasn’t just that though, there was something more too.

 

The picture was becoming clearer as he gazed down at Dean, at the way he was trustingly sprawled against Roman and how he’d reacted to Roman’s touch. Roman dug his computer tablet out from his bag, it was within reach thank God, he didn’t want to lose contact with Dean just yet. Roman assessed that fleeting thought, turning it over in his mind and slotting it into place. His fingers skated across the tablet’s screen, his free hand finding its resting place on the meat of Dean’s shoulder. An experiment maybe, more data was needed.

 

And if investigating this turn of Dean’s behavior distracted Roman from thinking about Seth, then that was for the best. His thoughts had been circling Seth relentlessly since that Raw, since receiving that first echoing chair shot from a man that he’d considered family. He’d watched the footage afterward; he’d seen the smirk on Seth’s face, the unrepentant greed. Thinking about Dean, for once, was preferable, calming even.

 

Roman sat like that for hours until his bladder told him that he had to move. He reluctantly slid out from underneath Dean and thought that he saw Dean's eyelids flicker so he curled fingers through Dean's hair, watching Dean twitch and then calm again. Roman wanted to keep on touching him. He forced himself away and into the bathroom.

 

Washing his hands afterward, he stared into the mirror that hung crookedly over the sink. He curled his lip, briefly thinking of Seth and how he'd usually coat every motel bathroom that they shared with strong-smelling hair dye. Then he thought about Dean crunching on an apple in the background, slouching in a doorway, yammering until Roman was distracted from concentrating on the stench. He thought about that some more, Dean's talking was never that important, it was his actions that always spoke loudest.

 

A door banged shut. Roman looked back into the bedroom; Dean was gone. Roman's heart clenched, but it wasn't that surprising. Dean rarely took hold of affection from others for long. He either laughed it off or shrugged away. He'd accept glances, touches that meant friendship, brotherhood, only maybe he wouldn't accept that now after Seth's actions. Roman clenched a fist, Seth had ruined something else, maybe this was on purpose too. Maybe Seth had seen more than he'd let on.

 

Dean would come back. He had to come back.

 

Roman felt his heart clench again, the pain new and telling as he emerged from the bathroom and stared down at where Dean had been laying. Roman touched the still-warm sheets and scooped up his tablet. A few more pieces fell into place. More experimentation was needed.

 

Dean would come back.

 

*

 

Roman didn't see Dean for another couple of days. They both had different work targets now; Roman had his eyes set on Triple H and by proxy Randy Orton while Dean was wholly focused on demolishing Seth. Good. Roman couldn't stand hearing Seth's monologues that tore down Dean and Roman, claiming ownership, as though he'd been the only thing holding them back from the brink of disaster. Sure, Seth had been a linchpin but he hadn't been the sum total. Brothers fell out but Dean and Roman had always had each other's backs, no matter what.

 

Had Roman missed something? Had Seth been carrying too much on his shoulders? Maybe if Roman had noticed he could have shouldered some of that for Seth, he could have helped Seth notice that he wasn't alone in keeping the team together, that they all did their part. But there was no going back now, Roman was going to have to swallow that guilt and deal with it because Seth had still chosen violent betrayal over trying anything else. Seth had made his choice clear. Roman hoped that Dean wasn't doing the same.

 

Yeah, he worried about Dean; he missed Dean's warmth next to him, the way his hands had felt on Dean's body. Dean would come back; he was like one of those neighborhood dogs, the ones with scars and gnarly tempers, the ones that turned up no matter what crazy shit happened. Roman smiled to himself, thinking about touching Dean, running his fingers through Dean's hair. Was Dean going to turn up with more marks on his body? That wild half-calmed look in his eyes? The thought made something rumble angrily in Roman's chest. Whatever Dean did on those nights, fucking or fighting probably, it didn't seem like it was ever enough.

 

Roman's worry kicked up a couple of gears. Dean would come back. He would. Roman would drag him back if he didn't. Fuck.

 

That night, Roman's hand ended up amongst the tangle of sheets that Dean had left behind, smelling of the arid sweat that always clung around Dean's neck along with the smell of his favored Cobra beer. Roman took deep breaths and dreamed about his hands on Dean's body, and Dean lying still.

 

*

 

When Dean did turn up in the next motel room that Roman had booked, he looked even more jittery than usual and there was a mark across his neck that immediately got Roman's attention. He crossed the room quickly, causing Dean to back up against the closed door, his eyebrows moving rapidly and his mouth smirking while asking a silent question at the same time, a _what's your problem?_ kind of a question.

 

Oh, that was _it._ Roman dug a hand into Dean's shoulder to pin him in place, Dean tilted his head back in insolent challenge. But he dry swallowed too and Roman's gaze zeroed on that movement before shifting to the mark on Dean's neck. It looked fresh and painful and Dean didn't look any closer to being even halfway settled in his skin. He didn't look remorseful either, it was more like he thought that Roman's fears were trivial, laughable even. Roman made a noise deep in his throat and grabbed a handful of Dean's hair and pulled. Something that could have been sigh or maybe a gasp escaped Dean's throat. The recent heat that had been running through Roman whenever he was near Dean punched through him again. He pulled harder.

 

“What the fuck were you thinking?” he hissed out, his words hotly hitting Dean's face.

 

Dean let out a strangled sound and closed his eyes briefly. There was a whole lot of life in them when he opened them again though. “Thinking isn’t-.”

 

Roman pulled on Dean’s hair again and Dean’s words gargled to a halt. They stared at each other for a long breathless moment, then Roman’s fingers began digging into Dean’s scalp, massaging, touching. Dean looked a little glassy-eyed, Roman felt hungry for more.

 

The wild look was bleeding back into Dean’s eyes and body, like he was going to move at any moment, he’d probably dive for the door. Roman’s grip increased, his instincts taking over as he led Dean away from the wall, Dean didn’t resist. He didn’t even say anything when Roman eased them both down onto the unmade bed and then directed Dean’s head to rest against his thigh.

 

Roman scritched his fingers across Dean’s scalp and watched as Dean shuddered, moving closer and then back abruptly, like resisting was the preferable option. Roman shook his head and pressed his hand firmly to Dean’s head.

 

“Stay.”

 

Another experiment, it seemed like the right thing to say. And fuck, Roman didn't want Dean out of his sight right now. Dean froze and looked like he was thinking about leaping away as he stared at Roman out of wild eyes but Roman kept up the petting and Dean quietened. Something unfurled inside Roman as he stroked fingers across Dean’s skin, gliding over the marks on Dean’s skin, marks that Dean’d sought out probably. Had Dean been seeking this out? Someone to grab him by the scruff of the neck and shake him, to put him in his place? Roman frowned, maybe but that didn’t seem exactly right, the picture didn’t fit completely.

 

He had more assessing to do. For now, Dean was back and he was close and he wasn’t going to leave. Roman felt that down to his bones.

 

The next morning, there was Dean, drooling on Roman’s leg. Roman cracked a smile and ran a hand down Dean’s side. That hunger was still there inside of him, wanting to notice more, to keep Dean right there where he’d be safe, where he’d be cared for. Roman’s ministrations slowed, watching as Dean sleepily pushed into his touch. He watched Dean until he woke up.

 

Dean sort of jerked awake and started to move but Roman pressed a hand to the back of Dean’s neck and he almost melted and then jerked again. Roman dug his thumb in because talking about this right now was going to take them nowhere fast. Dean would throw up cyclones of words and sneers and then he’d leave and just come back later with more bruises. That was unacceptable.

 

“Dean.”

 

Dean’s gaze darted up towards Roman, searching for the truth probably or any sign of mocking. Roman slid another hand down Dean’s body and watched Dean exhale, his limbs actually going limp. Roman pointedly raised an eyebrow, Dean needed this. Roman did too; he needed Dean right there close by, where Roman could lay hands on him and help.

 

They stayed like that for a while, Dean looking less twitchy by the minute and maybe even a little close to blissed-out. Roman could feel satisfaction rolling through him, along with heated and highly-possessive pleasure. It was the best he’d felt since before Seth’s betrayal.

 

The sound of someone stomping down the corridor beyond the bedroom door made Dean startle back to full wakefulness and he began sitting up, his body tense and jagged. Roman kept a hand on Dean, he didn’t want Dean to whitewash this, to pretend it hadn’t happened and then come back with even more marks decorating his skin. Roman didn’t want to lose this.

 

Dean was looking at him out of narrow-eyes, “Are we done with the pity party?”

 

Roman snorted; of course Dean was going right for the jugular. He squeezed the nape of Dean’s neck, “I can tell you right now that what I’m feeling is nowhere _near_ pity.”

 

Dean peered at him, maybe Roman’s pupils were blown wide or his satisfaction was on display for all to see because some of the tension bled out of Dean. He sort of nudged himself closer, like he was testing ground or wanting to prove Roman wrong. Roman stayed right where he was, his hand firm on Dean. Dean looked like he really didn’t believe his own luck, at all. Roman was struck by the thought that he’d rarely if ever seen Dean without some kind of hunted look in his eyes behind the crazy. The second thought that struck him was that he wanted to change that.

 

His thumb purposefully brushed against the fresh mark on Dean’s neck because some things had to be talked about, “Did you get what you needed?”

 

His tone may have edged towards something incendiary because Dean looked challenging again, all tape-wrapped wrists and spittle words.

 

“It hit the spot _real_ good.”

 

Dean was twisting a knife now and Roman’s grip increased. This was what Dean wanted, to disappear under anger and taunts. He’d claim it wasn’t retreating but Roman knew better, he knew a lot about Dean. Roman bared his teeth.

 

“Really, so that’s why you keep coming back here afterward?”

 

Dean wasn’t the only one who could twist a knife. Dean bristled and there was something in his gaze, something yearning that whirled away before Roman could assess it properly. He kept Dean right where he was, Dean who was trying to break away, to break whatever moment they’d been enjoying together.

 

“It wasn’t anything.”

 

“There or here?”

 

Dean’s laugh was a rough bark, “Either, both, so what? So long as I’m rolling, right? So long as the fight goes on? I got what I need to tear Seth to pieces.”

 

Roman wanted to shake him, he might have done, just enough to get Dean to shut up. “That’s not all that matters.”

 

His hand became gentle and Dean swallowed, his jaw doing something interesting afterward. He didn’t start trying to make for the door again. Instead he tilted his head and just looked at Roman, like he was the one noticing something now. Roman was being assessed. He kept up the gentle movements against Dean’s neck, staring back at Dean with all heat and instinct in his eyes. He knew what he wanted and what Dean needed, what nobody else was getting right when it came to Dean.

 

“I’ll show you.”

 

Roman guided Dean back down again, near his feet, close and warm. Dean’s eyes kept darting back towards Roman like he was waiting for a punchline or a fist. His breathing was labored and Roman wanted to fix that. He ran his hands down Dean’s back for a while and then began petting through his hair. Dean’s renewed tension began to unclamp until he was curled up in front of Roman, hungrily basking in the physical attention. Roman felt warm satisfaction lick through him, this was what he wanted; Dean close by, unrankled and safe. And he wanted Dean to feel good.

 

“Good boy.”

 

The words came out rough and deeper than usual. Dean’s eyes flashed and he pressed more urgently into Roman’s touch.

 

*

 

Dean still ran away a lot. Sometimes he still turned up with fresh bruises and marks and Roman would slant his eyebrows disapprovingly and tell Dean that he was staying and that Roman wouldn’t be touching Dean right now, not until Dean had learned his lesson – that he didn't need to look out there anymore. Dean claimed that was fine but his eyes gave him away and he always ended up sat on the motel room couch beside Roman, his body so obviously yearning for a particular touch.

 

“You gonna learn?” Roman asked him pointedly.

 

Dean rolled his eyes but he pushed closer, his legs now nestled against Roman’s and his back always bowing down because he wanted to curl up in Roman’s lap, even as he bristled and sneered. His words were always at odds with his actions.

 

“This doesn’t mean-.”

 

“Yes, it does.”

 

_And that’s fine_ Roman didn’t say _and the sooner you fucking accept it, the better it’ll fucking be_. Because Dean shoved against walls and rules and authorities, he kept pushing because that was the only way he knew to get people to listen to him, to see him. Maybe he pushed as well because he wanted and craved without explanation or clarity and nobody had known how to handle him, until now. Dean would always push but he’d accept a strong hand if it treated him right because he’d spent his lifetime knowing strength but knowing affection? Roman noticed how Dean reacted to Roman’s considerate caring touches; he was like a bristling vein-deep addict yet he never sure of his welcome which fucking ground into Roman because he wasn't being subtle about what he wanted and enjoyed.

 

When Roman watched crappy-quality television, he nodded for Dean to take a seat at his feet. With a weird affecting mix of hesitation and an eagerness that was transparent to Roman, Dean dropped down and leaned his head against Roman’s leg. Roman dangled a hand down to run through Dean’s hair, he could feel Dean nuzzled against him, grazing his teeth against the denim that Roman was wearing. Roman let out an agreeable rumble. There was something about the way Dean reacted to him that really worked for him, Dean had to see that. Hadn’t he noticed? Was that why he sometimes still ran away?

 

Dean drank in the touches and even did what Roman asked with minimal rebellion, sometimes he really did act out but Roman didn’t let him get away with it and Dean was soon back to that ragged eagerness after being told that he had to sleep on the floor. Roman still made him sleep down there because a punishment wasn’t a punishment if the threat wasn’t followed through. Anyway, Dean was always going to have a manic questioning taunting edge to him, it was who he was and Roman didn't want to tame him, not completely. He just wanted to stop Dean from dipping into ceaseless pain and having brawls that'd give the Authority an easy excuse to can him.

 

They didn’t talk about it because Dean refused to. He got quiet, well he didn’t talk, he made noises that curled all the way through Roman. Hearing Dean huff out those sounds like he couldn’t help himself was beyond satisfying. Roman told Dean that, how good he was. Dean liked that just as much as the touching, even if his expression always contorted discomfortingly.

 

Roman didn’t find it all that strange. Maybe because he was a big guy and people had often had expectations of him in the past so weren't shy about the variety of things that they'd wanted from him. He knew how fucking hot it could be to fulfill a partner’s needs. He doubted Dean had ever articulated this one, maybe he’d gotten the boundaries or discipline whenever he inevitably started fights or maybe he'd crashed into the right clubs, he needed something to brace himself against. But anything else, it was like Dean couldn't believe it was real or he firmly thought that it wouldn't last. Dean’s behavior was actually making a lot of other things about him real clear.

 

Dean wasn’t going to explain what he wanted so Roman just watched him and did enough research to give him some ideas. He knew Dean and he was learning more from this new angle, what would send Dean running and what would make him pant. Fuck, yes.

 

*

 

They were eating takeaway in the latest motel, it was pretty decent pizza and Dean was sort of slumped across Roman’s feet, obnoxiously pleased with himself and utterly drained. Roman didn’t think about it when he dropped an arm down to offer Dean a slice of pizza. Dean just took a bite out of it, eating it out of Roman’s hand. This was new; there was a sort of trust being displayed there and a lot of teasing. Roman smirked to himself and watched.

 

He enjoyed watching Dean tear off mouthfuls of pizza with his teeth, his eyes dark and challenging. The moment felt charged, baldly feral and so completely Dean _._ Roman easily met his gaze, not backing off. They still hadn't talked about any of this, in moments like this they didn't need to. Roman thumbed away the tomato sauce that had gotten caught at the edge of Dean’s mouth, Dean’s tongue darted out to lick at Roman’s thumb. Roman’s heartbeat kicked up a little, especially when Dean’s teeth got involved. Fuck.

 

Slowly he tore off a chunk of pizza crust and held it out, palm up. His own challenge. Dean twitched but he leaned in and mouthed the piece away, making sure to tongue at Roman’s palm. Roman could feel his cock hardening in response. So he was learning more about himself as well as Dean.

 

He handfed Dean the rest of the slice and then reached for another. Dean was watching him intently; Roman ran his free hand through Dean’s hair, tugging a little to show his pleasure at Dean’s behavior. Clearly Dean knew what that meant because a string of mumbled sounds fell from his lips.

 

“That’s good,” Roman murmured, sounding sure as he fed Dean.

 

He wouldn’t do this every night because they still argued daily and Dean still reacted explosively to so much. He needed to earn any treats and maybe he knew that, maybe that was why he kept coming back, why he was looking less scratched-up these days. Good. This was their business, that was all Dean needed to get square with.

 

Roman could feel Dean lapping at his hand, audibly enjoying every crevice of skin now that the pizza was gone until Roman tapped his hand against Dean's chin and watched as Dean settled back against Roman's legs, looking satisfied and a little dazed. Roman felt a little bit smug and left one hand in Dean's hair. The contact was all important, as was Dean.

 

Roman stroked Dean's neck and gazed down at his moving fingers, possessive heat curling through him. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling. Roman tilted his head, filled with the urge to suck marks on Dean's skin, to leave him with a vivid ring around his throat.

 

The heat running through Roman scorched at that idea. His grip increased on Dean's neck, Dean hummed out a jagged curl of a sound that only made the heat that much more ragged.

 

Dean slept in Roman's bed that night, his teeth left distinctive imprints on Roman's chest.

 

_-the end_


End file.
